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This page shows only audio recordings by احسان حلاج.
Ghazaliyat by Hafez, in audio recordings by احسان حلاج
The curve of Thy tress is the snare of infidelity and of Faith: This matter is a little from His work-shop.
The heart is the chamber of love of His: The eye is the mirror-holder of the form of His.
This blackish one, all the sweetness of the world is with him. The fair eye, the laughing lip, the joyous heart is with Him.
The head of our desire, and the threshold of the Mighty Friend: For, whatever passeth over our head is His will.
Of a great favor from the threshold of the Friend, hope mine is; A great sin I have done; of His pardon hope mine, is.
That envoy, who arrived from the country of the Friend; And brought the amulet of life from the dark writing of the Friend.
O Breeze! If thy path should chance by the Land of the Friend. Bring a fragrant waft of air from the beperfumed tress of the Friend.
Welcome! O Messenger of the Longing Ones, give the message of the Friend. That, with the essence of pleasure, I may make my soul a sacrifice for the Friend.
Thy face, none hath seen; and a thousand watchers are Thine, Still in the rosebud, Thine many a nightingale is.
Since the presentation of skill before the Beloved disrespect, is The tongue, silent; yet, the mouth full of Arabia is.
More pleasant than the pleasure and the enjoyment of the garden and the spring is what? Where is the Said? Say: “The cause of our waiting is what?”
O nightingale! bewail if, the desire of being a lover with me, thine is. For, we two are, weeping lovers; and our work, weeping is.
O Lord! that candle, night-illuminating, from the house of whom is? Our soul hath consumed. Ask ye, saying: “She, the beloved, of whom is?”
From the city, my moon went this week; to my eye a year it is: The state of separation what knowest thou how difficult the state is?
Who is not fallen into that doubled tress is none ; In whose path is it, that a snare of calamity is none ?
The Zahed, outward worshipper! Of our state, knowledge is none. In respect of us, whatever he saith, room for abhorrence is none.
Love’s path is Path whereof the shore is none: And there, unless they surrender their soul, remedy is none.
From the ray of Thy face, luminous a glance is not. that is not: The favor of the dust of Thy door, on an eye is not, that is not.
The produce of the workshop of existence and dwelling all this is naught; Bring wine. For the goods of the world all this is naught.
The sleep of that thy seducing eye without something is not : The curl of that thy dishevelled tress, without something is not.
Save Thy threshold, my shelter in the world is none. Save this door, my fortress-place is none.
A nightingale had a rose-leaf, pleasant of hue in his beak, And, on that leaf and pleasant food, bitter lamentation held.
Thou sawest that, save the desire of violence and of tyranny, my beloved aught had not. He shattered the covenant; and, on account of our grief, grief had not.
Now, that the fragrant breeze of Paradise bloweth from the rose garden. I and the wine, joy-giving and the Beloved angel.
O Zahed, pure of nature! censure not the profligates; For, against thee, they will not record another’s crime.
At dawn, the bird of the sward spake to the rose: “Display less disdain; for, in this garden many a one like thee hath blossomed.”
That Bold One of Angel-face who, last night, by me passed, What sin saw He that, by way of sin, He passed?
If from the hand of Thy musky tress, a fault passed, it passed: And, if against us from Thy dark mole, an act of tyranny passed, it passed.
O Saki! bring wine; for the fasting month hath passed. Give the goblet; for the season of name and fame hath passed.
From His lip of ruby, a draft we tasted not; and He departed: His face, moon of form, we beheld not to our fill; and He departed.
Saki! come; for the true Beloved hath taken up the veil, The work of the lamp of the Khilvatis again kindled.
By concord with darkish beauty, the world Thy beauty took. Yes; by concord, the world one can take.
I heard a pleasant speech that the old man of Kan’an uttered: “Separation from the true Beloved maketh not that which can be uttered.”
O Lord! devise a means, whereby in safety my Beloved May come back, and release me from the claw of reproach.
O lapwing of the east wind! to Saba, I send thee: Behold from where to where, I send thee!
O hidden from sight! to God, I entrust, thee. Thou consumedest my soul; yet with heart, friend I hold thee.
My Lord! sweetly, Thou goest in so much that in Thee, head to foot (altogether) I die : My Bold One ! sweetly, Thou movest ; before Thee, I die.
What kindness it was when, suddenly, the dropping of thy pen Represented the obligations of our service according to the goodness of thee.
On account of that heart-cherishing beloved, thanks with complaint are mine: If thou be a subtlety-understander of love list well to this tale.
Ever intoxicated keepeth me the waft of air of the tress-curl of Thine. Momently ruined maketh me the deceit of the eye of sorcery of Thine.
For our pain, is no remedy, Justice! For our separation is no end, Justice !
From all the heart-ravishers, it is fit that thou (O Muhammad) shouldest take tribute ; For, over all lovely ones (prophets), thou, crown-like, art chief.
If, in thy religious order, the (shedding of the) blood of the lover is lawful (to us it is lawful) : Our rectitude is all that which is thy rectitude.
My heart, in desire of the face of Farrukh, Is in confusion like the hair of Farrukh.
Yesterday, the Pir, the wine-seller whose mention be for good! Said: “Drink wine; and, from recollection, take the heart’s grief.”
Wine and hidden pleasure, what are they? Baseless work. On the ranks of profligates we dashed. What is fit to be-be!
Last night, the news of the beloved, journey-made, gave the wind: To the wind, I also give my heart. Whatever it be-be.
The day of union of friends remember: Those times, remember, remember!
The sun of every vision, Thy beauty be More beautiful than the beauty, Thy beautiful face be.
If, to limit, the Sufi drink wine to him, sweet may it be! If not, the thought of this work of his, forgotten be!
